LBATF: The Good Bye Talk
by chronicler-of-knuckles
Summary: Buck's Reserve Unit is ordered to Iraq, and father and son are forced to say their not-so-good good byes.


TITLE: The Good Bye Talk  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
RATING: G  
  
UNIVERSE: LB/ATF  
  
CHALLENGE: W.O.W. 04-05-04 -- ULTIMATUM (terms)  
  
SUMMARY: When Buck's reserve unit is ordered to Iraq, father and son are forced to say their not-so-good good byes.  
  
NOTES: In this story, J.D. is twelve. Thus a few years after the usual LB.  
  
ARCHIVE: Sure thingy.  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Good Bye Talk  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He knew this was going to be tough. But this tough?  
  
Ever since 9-11 Buck and Chris had talked with the boys about the possibility of Buck's unit being called to fight. When troops were sent to Iraq and reserve units all over the country were being activated, they knew it would only be a matter of time.   
  
But the boys held out hope.  
  
Funny how kids' hope worked.  
  
At first they had hoped he'd be called to war. They had been excited, bragging to everyone that their Buck Wilmington was a `Warrior of these fine and righteous United States of our beautiful America, a Gallant hero of Democracy, the Champion of Freedom.'  
  
(Such speeches from the boys generally earned Ezra a glare for which he claimed complete innocence to.)  
  
Then, as it does in war, the terrible inedible happened: fine, Gallant, righteous warriors, unstoppable, unshakable champions began coming home in body bags.  
  
And Vin and J.D.'s hope spun about and ran in the other direction as quick as their hearts could run.  
  
But hope wasn't enough to keep the orders from arriving, calling Commander Buck Wilmington and his Reserve Unit to active duty in the far-off, war ravaged country of Iraq.  
  
J.D. watched as his father rolled a ball of socks and tossed it into his duffel bag. "Are you gonna be gone long?" he asked, absently reaching out to fiddle with the bag's handle.  
  
Buck shrugged as he crossed the room to the bed, and zipped his duffel up. "Could be a bit." he admitted.   
  
The boy hung his head, letting his black bangs fall across and hide his face.  
  
Buck smiled sadly. He reached out to run his finger's through his son's silky curls, brushing it away from his face. "Ah, come on, little bit. Won't be that bad. Hey! I thought preteens couldn't wait to get rid of their old mans."  
  
Hazel eyes snapped up to glare at him. Despite glistening with tears, they were hard with anger. "This ain't a joke, Buck!" J.D. snapped. "Guys are dyin'! An' not jus' bad guys. Good guys! OUR good guys! Good guys jus' like you!" As if the sudden outburst of anger had drained his last reserves of courage, his bottom lip began to tremble. Quickly he turned away, silently begging himself not to cry.  
  
Buck sighed. He tossed his duffel bag into the chair beside the door and sat on the bed beside his son. He reached out to wrap his arms around the boy.   
  
But J.D. jumped to his feet. Spinning about to glare at his father, he backed away. "Why? Why you? Why Iraq? Why? Huh? Why?" he shouted, swinging his small fists in the air with each `why'.  
  
Buck grabbed his hands, stilling them. "J.D. Easy. Take it easy."  
  
J.D. tried to pull away, but Buck wasn't letting go. So, instead, he stomped his foot. "It isn't fair! They made their own mess. Why do you have to go clean it up? Who cares what they do way on the other side of the planet? I don't care! And I don't see why they should take my Da too!"  
  
"John Daniels!" Buck said sharply, trying to get a chance to speak.  
  
His son's jaw snapped shut and he glared up at him, still trying to twist and pull his hands free.  
  
Buck smiled gently at the boy. "Some things just have to be done." He shook his head. "I'm not very smart, J.D., no master mind schemer here. I don't have all the answers. Hell, I don't even have a few. What I do know is that people need our help and it's my job to help them."  
  
"`I' need you." the boy wined. "An' you have a job. Lookin' after me. An lookin' after Denver, keepin' all those guns an' bad guys away... like Chris an' Uncle 'siah, an' Uncle Ez, an' Uncle Nate... Who's gonna get Uncle Ez all dirty if'n you aren't around to cause it all?"  
  
Buck couldn't help but chuckle, which earned him a good tug as J.D. angrily tried to pull away again. "I swore to a duty, J.D. I swore that, if our country needed me to fight, I would go and fight." He paused to shake his head. "I don't know why people hurt each other. I don't know why they have to take from each other or why they have to hate what's different. I don't know why little kids, no older than you and Vin, are killing each other just 'cause someone told them that's what they do. But, I know it's wrong! It is wrong to hurt, to take, to hate, and, most defiantly, to kill."  
  
"Ain't that what a solider does?" J.D. asked.  
  
Buck shrugged. "Sometimes you have to fight to stop the fighting. Like when Chris or I send you boys to your room or ground you when you've done something wrong."  
  
J.D. wasn't happy with that explanation, returning with "Two wrongs don't make right."  
  
No, it doesn't." Buck agreed. "An' there's nothin' right about war, son. War isn't about right. It's about stopping what's wrong." He added in a mumble "At least that's what the winner always says." With a tired sigh, Buck released his son's hands so he could cup his small, gentle face. "I know you don't understand, Little bit. Honestly, I'm glad you don't understand. I hope, I pray to god that you `never' understand war." He shook his head slightly. "But it's something I have to do."  
  
Out of arguments, J.D. simply stood there and stared at his father. Finally, unable or simply unwilling to fend off the tears any longer, J.D. leaned forward until he fell into his father's chest, burring his face. "B... but ah don't want ya to go, Da!" he cried. "Ah'm... ah'm scared ya ain't ever comin' back... that you'll... you'll..."  
  
"Shhh." Buck hushed, dropping a kiss on his head. "There is nothing, heaven nor earth nor the hell of war, that'll keep me from you." He wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. "How about I make you a deal?" he suggested.  
  
Gulping back his tears, J.D. pulled back just enough to blink up at him.  
  
For a moment Buck marveled at those beautiful hazel eyes. `God, how am I gonna live without seeing those bright, shiny eyes every day?' Swallowing back his own tears threatening to conquer him, he continued "If you promise to try to not to worry too much, I promise to try an' not to give you somethin' to worry about. Deal?"  
  
J.D.'s bottom lip stuck out a little. "What... what if I worry too much? What'll you do then?" he asked in a shaky whisper, afraid of the possible answer.  
  
Buck tilted his head to one side. "Hmmm... very good question." He chewed on his lip as if thinking it over. "Well, then, here's my terms: if you `do' worry too much, then, when I get back, you... will... owe... me... a.... hmmm.... a pizza! With everything!" He nodded once as if in triumph.  
  
To his greatest pleasure, his son smiled just slightly. "A pizza?" J.D. huffed. "Is that all?"  
  
Buck shrugged. "Could go for a rootbeer float while we're at it."  
  
J.D. sighed. "Well, I'm gonna have to owe you a couple of pizzas, 'cause I'm gonna worry a lot."  
  
His father chuckled. Leaning over, he kissed his son again before turning him and giving him a gentle shove. "Now, go on, Little Bit. We've gotta get goin'." he whispered, hoping he would leave the room before he saw his own father cry.  
  
J.D. sniffed, wiping his eyes. Slowly he started for the bedroom door. But then paused. Spinning about, he snatched something off the night stand and shoved it into Buck's duffel bag, before running out the door, nearly running into Chris as he went.  
  
Chris frowned as he leaned against the door frame, watching the small boy run down the hall. The he looked at his long time friend. "Everything okay, buddy?" he asked.  
  
Buck rose to his feet and walked over to his bag. He fished out what his son had deposited and held it up to admire it.   
  
It was a picture of J.D. and Buck leaning up against one another, fast asleep on a summer day in the hay loft. It was their favorite picture in a frame J.D. had made (with Nathan's help) out of sea shells.  
  
Buck smiled. He hugged the picture to his chest and looked right at Chris. "No. Nothing's okay." he whispered before dropping his head and crying softly.  
  
Chris sighed. "Yea, brother. I know." he mumbled, grabbing his friend by the back of the neck, and pulling him close, letting him cry on his shoulder. "There's nothing okay about good byes."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
